


Diary of a Dog Sitter

by Yamx



Category: White Collar
Genre: Dog(s), Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamx/pseuds/Yamx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mozzie?" El said. "I need your help."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diary of a Dog Sitter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lindenharp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindenharp/gifts).



> Set in early season 2. Written for Lindenharp as a 2012 stocking stuffer. Happy 2013!
> 
> Thanks to Canaan for betaing.
> 
> This story has been[ translated into Italian](http://www.facebook.com/notes/white-collar-fascino-criminale/diario-di-un-dog-sitter-traduzione-dalloriginale-di-yamx/473837646012233) by Paola Balza. Thank you!

**Day 1**

Mozzie's phone rang. He looked at it askance. The green phone was not supposed to ring. Only Neal had that number, and he was on a deep-undercover job for the suit where he certainly wouldn't be calling Mozzie. Unless it was an emergency, but then he would be calling the red phone.

The phone rang again. Mozzie checked the display. It was the Burkes' number. 

Mozzie picked up. "Rick's Auto Shop." 

El sounded hesitant. "Mozzie?"

"Rick's Auto Shop," he repeated.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I think I must have dialed the wrong—"

He sighed. "I say 'Rick's Auto Shop,' then you say, 'Do you have a gear stick for a 2002 VW Golf.' It's protocol!" 

"Ah." He could hear a smile in El's voice now. "Sorry, Mozzie, Neal didn't mention that part."

"He gave you this number?" Really, did he have to go over security parameters with Neal _again_?

"Yes, a while ago. He said if I needed help and couldn't get a hold of him or Peter..."

"A friend in need is a friend I want to help!" Mozzie nodded. "What do you need?"

"Well, this is going to sound really random, but... A dog sitter. For about a week."

Mozzie didn't blink. "I'll be right over."

***

He lifted the heavy trunk— _he who travels light travels ill-prepared_ —up the stairs to the Burkes' townhouse and knocked. El opened right away and pulled him into a hug. Satchmo was behind her, tail going back and forth like a windscreen wiper on its highest setting. _A dog can express more with his tail in seconds than his owner can express with his tongue in hours._

"Thank you _so_ much, Moz. You were my last hope. With Neal in deep cover and Peter in the van pretty much round the clock... I'd have boarded him, but at such short notice, and during school break..."

Moz nodded. "I understand." He bent down to pat Satchmo's neck. "I'm sure _le chien_ and I will get along." Satchmo bumped his head against Mozzie's knees in agreement.

"Where are you going?" he asked El. It wasn't like her to take spontaneous trips while her husband was involved in major operations. 

"My sister broke her leg. She needs someone to help with the household and the kids. And enthusiastic dogs and crutches aren't a good mix." She patted Satchmo affectionately. "Again, Mozzie, thank you _so much_ —I couldn't leave until I knew Satchmo'd be all right."

Mozzie nodded. "Desert not thy dog, for he'd never desert thee." 

El smiled. Her eyes focused on something over Moz's shoulder. He half-turned and saw a cab pull up to the house. "I need to get going. My flight leaves in two hours, and with security the way it is now..." Mozzie nodded. TSA drones and their invasive procedures—clearly just a front to test mind-reading technology on hapless passengers, but this was not the time to tell El that. 

"Satchmo's food is on the highest shelf in the pantry—keep it up there or he can get to it. Feed him two cups every morning and evening, make sure he has water, three walks a day and let him into the yard a few times—help yourself to anything in the fridge or pantry." El looked anxious, like she was wondering if he could remember all that. Perfect recall, thank you. 

Mozzie nodded. "Never fear, _mon amie_ , I'm sure the pooch and I will manage."

"Call if you have any questions." The concern on her face was endearing.

"Of course." He took care to look as reliable and responsible as only a conman could.

El visibly relaxed. "Here." She handed him a house key.

He shook his head. "Thanks, I have my own."

El frowned. "I beg your pardon?" Oops.

"Errr... who's Satchmo's vet?" he asked, taking the unnecessary key and pocketing it.

"Dr. Glasser. Her number and address are on the fridge." Her eyes were still suspicious, but just then the cab honked. El looked up and gestured to the driver. She grabbed her suitcase—a small rollerboard that made Mozzie's trunk look a bit.... over-prepared by comparison—and hurried down the stairs.

"Bye, Moz!" She waved as she opened the cab door. 

Mozzie waved back. "Bon voyage!"

Just as the cab pulled out, El opened the window and called, "Oh, and don't forget to play with him!" Moz nodded and patted Satchmo's head. He closed the door when the dog looked like he might run after Mom and her taxi. 

Moz wheeled his trunk into the living room and turned to look down at Satch.

The dog looked up at him, a huge doggie smile on his lips. His tail wagged and his tongue was lolling out.

"So..." Mozzie asked. "Do you like chess?"

**Day 2**

"FBI! FREEZE!" A dark shadow stood in the doorway, barely visibly by the light of the street lamps. But the silhouette of a gun pointed at Mozzie was only too clear.

Mozzie froze. Not that he had been moving much, seeing how he'd been _fast asleep on the couch_. "Suit?" he asked calmly—definitely calmly and without the slightest squeak in his voice.

"Mozzie?" The dark form tapped a light switch with an elbow, gun never wavering. Mozzie gulped.

The lamps came on, the sudden light forcing Mozzie to slit his eyes. He sat up, keeping his hands clearly visible, and slowly reached for his glasses. He saw the figure—no longer dark, but now fuzzy—lowering the gun.

Once Moz had put on his glasses, Peter came into focus, standing by the door and looking utterly confused. Satchmo was by his side, excitedly nosing his hand. Peter patted him absently. "What are you doing on my couch?"

"Mrs. Suit asked me to dog sit! She didn't tell you?" She could call him on his secret green phone, but couldn't contact her own _husband_?

Peter shook his head. "She said she was going to board Satch."

"She couldn't get him a space at such short notice. So I said I'd take care of him." He gestured. "I was not aware I was going to have guns pointed at me."

"I'm sorry." Peter holstered the gun and raised his hands apologetically. "Didn't expect anyone in the house." 

"What are you doing here, anyway? Aren't you supposed to keep an eye on Neal?"

"Jones and Diana have it for now. I'm just here to grab some sleep, fresh clothes and a shower." He paused. "You know we have a spare bedroom, right?"

"Ha! Like I'm going to sleep upstairs in a house without smoke detectors!" 

Peter glanced at the ceiling. "We have smoke detectors. It's the law."

"You have the Keyman Industries SafDetect 3000. Which was recalled eight months ago due to being unreliable." Really, did no one read the newspapers anymore?

Peter glanced up again. "It was?"

"Yes! This house is a deathtrap! I am _not_ sleeping anywhere except right next to an exit!" He gestured at the glass door to the porch. 

Peter nodded. "Suit yourself." He headed for the stairs. "Oh, and Moz?"

"Yes?"

Peter's face warmed with a real smile—the one he usually reserved for El or Neal. "Thank you for doing this."

Moz huffed and turned onto his side.

**Day 3**

When he came back from a long walk with Satch in the park the next day, he found a Lowe's bag on the kitchen table. Inside were eight brand-new smoke detectors and several packs of batteries, as well as a note.

_State of the art. I'll install them next time I have a chance to be home for more than twenty minutes._

Moz sighed and went to get a screwdriver.

**Day 4**

There was a knock on the door. Satchmo ran to the entrance excitedly. Moz hesitated, but decided to check. It could be some suit wanting to pick up a change of clothes for Peter. Or FedEx.

When he opened the door, it was Neal. Neal and some grumpy-looking goon. And there was blood on Neal's shirt. Mozzie's heart skipped a beat, but he carefully kept his face neutral.

Satchmo woofed once in greeting and pushed against Neal's hand for ear rubs, but Neal ignored him. He looked at Mozzie with lovestruck look #17. "Darling!" he exclaimed, and pulled him close. Mozzie could smell that the red stains on Neal's shirt were tomato sauce, not blood, and sighed in relief. 

"I'm so glad you're home!" Neal continued. "I forgot my key. And I totally ruined my shirt and need a fresh one."

Moz returned the hug, sliding a hand down to the small of Neal's back. "Good to see you, honey-bunny!" He saw the goon smirk. 

Neal pulled back and headed for the staircase. "Hon, this is Mitchell. He gave me a ride. Mitchell, I'll just be a sec."

Neal headed up the stairs. Moz and Mitchell stood in awkward silence for a few seconds. 

"Nice of you to give him a ride," Moz ventured, carefully not using a name. 

Mitchell shrugged. "Big day's today. Gotta look the part." He was looking from the framed photos on the wall to Satchmo, frowning. 

Moz glanced at the pictures. It was several shots of Peter and Elizabeth, cuddling and playing with Satchmo. He immediately deployed proud grin #4. "Great, aren't they? I took those! Photography is a bit of a hobby of mine." He gestured to the photos. "It's my sister and brother in law. Their dog is our dog's dame." He patted Satchmo's head. "You wouldn't believe what a difference a proper speed-shutter lens makes when trying to capture the motions of an animal! And good lighting is essential, or the vivid expressions of people..." He kept on prattling, only half-listening to himself, but watching the goon closely.

The frown smoothed out, and was replaced by poorly-hidded boredom. Good. Wouldn't want what few braincells Mitchell had to be occupied with analyzing the house too closely. Moz shifted his stance just enough to be between Mitchell and El's work purse, which she'd left on a hook by the door.

Just as Mitchell opened his mouth to say something—quite possibly to tell Mozzie to can it with the photography talk—Neal came back downstairs, wearing a fresh shirt and tie—a tie that looked suspiciously like the one Neal'd bought Peter for Christmas last year. It had probably been the only one in Peter's whole wardrobe Neal could stomach the thought of wearing. 

The shirt was a loose fit, and a lot of it was stuffed into the back of his pants, but it wasn't too noticeable under the jacket, and Mitchell didn't seem like a sartorial genius. 

"All right, dear. I'll be back late. Maybe not till tomorrow." He kissed Mozzie on the cheek and squeezed his butt.

Mozzie smiled softly and stroked Neal's cheek. "Take care of yourself." He said it with just enough emphasis to let Neal know that he meant this part. Then he turned to Mitchell. "Please make sure he eats."

Mitchell rolled his eyes. "We gotta get going."

Neal nodded. "Yeah. Bye, hon!" 

"Love you!" 

As Mitchell and Neal went down the outside steps, Neal half turned to blow Moz a kiss and send him an imploring look. Moz nodded imperceptibly. He'd got it.

As soon as he'd closed the door, Mozzie hurried upstairs. As expected, he found a note on El and Peter's bed, scribbled hastily with El's eyeliner on a page torn from a paperback. 

Moz picked up the phone—the house phone, no point in burning a perfectly good cell on this—and dialed Peter's number. 

"Moz?" Peter sounded hassled. "I don't have time, we've lost Neal and—"

"He was just here."

"What?" Peter's voice went quieter as he talked to someone else. "Mozzie saw him! He was at my house!" The voice got louder again. "Is he okay?"

"He seemed fine. A goon was with him. Mitchell, he said." 

"Damn. So you couldn't talk."

Mozzie rolled his eyes."Oh ye of little faith. He slipped me a note."

"Please tell me it's an address."

"It's an address, a time, and three names."

"I love you."

**Day 5**

Peter ran into the house barely acknowledging Moz and Satchmo.

"No time, we're an hour away from the big take down," he grunted, sprinting up the stairs.

He returned seconds later, carrying a tux. "I'm going in for the grand finale."

He stumbled over one of the dangling pant legs and fell, barely catching himself on the wall. His hand went straight through a landscape painting as he desperately groped for balance. 

He caught himself and stared at the damage. "Damn. Damn. Damn."

"Suit, that picture, while admittedly somewhat touching in its naivete, was amateur work at best. Barely—"

"El's grandmother painted it! The year she died! It's El's favorite!"

Mozzie took off his glasses and rubbed them with a corner of his shirt. How did he get so tangled up in the life of a fed and his wife that he cared about them being upset? "All right. I'll take care of it."

Peter scoffed. "How the hell are you going to 'take care'—" His eyes snapped from the painting to Mozzie. "Oh."

"Exactly. She'll never know. Now go help Neal!"

Peter leaped down the remaining steps. He patted Mozzie's back as he hurried past him. "Thanks, Moz. You're a true pal."

Moz sighed and closed the door behind him. "Yes, yes. I know."

**Day 6**

Peter and Neal returned to the house the next night. Neal was leaning on Peter, but he greeted Moz with a tired grin. "It's nothing. Just twisted my ankle. I could have gone home."

"Yeah, I'm not carrying you up all those stairs at June's," Peter grumbled. "And I want someone to be within shouting distance if you need anything. The doctor said to stay off it for at least a day."

Neal nodded. "Yes, Mom." 

Peter rolled his eyes. "Can you make it up the stairs?"

"Yeah, if you help me." 

"I'll make you some dinner," Mozzie offered.

"You don't have to stay, I can—" Peter started. 

Mozzie silenced him with a raised index finger. "It's late. I can survive your couch for another night. And I want to see how Neal's doing by morning."

Neal chuckled. "Yes, Dad."

Peter shook his head and manhandled him up the stairs.

**Day 7**

Moz rubbed his tired eyes, suppressing a yawn. The night had been too short. He reached for a banana.

The key turning in the lock made all three men look up. The door opened and El came in. 

"Honey!" Peter shot up from where he'd been sipping coffee in his boxers and a T-shirt while trying to work up the energy to go upstairs, shower and dress.

El looked around, taking in Peter's disheveled appearance, Neal's ankle wrap, and the look Moz didn't manage to suppress quite quickly enough. 

She put her hands on her hips, " What happened?"

"Nothing at all," they said in unison. 

Satchmo wagged his tail and licked El's hand. 

_They are better than human beings, because they know but do not tell._

The End

**Author's Note:**

> **Attributions:**
> 
>  
> 
>  _A dog can express more with his tail in seconds than his owner can express with his tongue in hours._ ~ Author unknown
> 
>  _Oh ye of little faith_ ~ Luke 12:28 
> 
> _They are better than human beings, because they know but do not tell._ ~ Emily Dickinson
> 
> The other "quotes" are, I'm afraid, entirely made up—or you might say Mozzie is quoting me! ;)


End file.
